


Babymoon

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Dearest Deacon [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: BoRhap, Cute Deacy, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, Queen AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 02:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: It's your 25th birthday, and your husband John Deacon has a surprise planned for you.





	Babymoon

On a Saturday evening, the sitting room of your simple London house was packed full of chattering people. It was your 25th birthday, and Freddie had insisted on having a party. You had given in to his pleading, and John had allowed him to make the arrangements, so long as he promised that the house would still be standing and in good working order at the end of the night.

As you leaned against the arm of the couch, chatting away with a friend, the room went dark. The kitchen door swung open, and John stood in the doorway, a candle-covered cake illuminating his smiling face. The crowd parted as he walked towards you. 

“Altogether now, darlings!” Freddie commanded, and the room broke out into a lively chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’. John held the cake out before you, his eyes twinkling with the flames of 25 candles. 

“Make a wish, love,” he said softly. Taking a deep breath, you leaned forward and blew a steady stream of air over the cake. In the end, four remained lit. Roger whistled from across the room. 

“One for each of her favourite fellas,” he called out. Your guests laughed and clapped as you blew out the last few candles. After passing the cake to your sister, John leaned in for a kiss, which you received gladly. The lights came back on, revealing the moment to the rest of the room. 

“Careful now, Y/N,” your friend warned you jokingly, “If you two aren’t careful, you might end up pregnant.” John let out a short laugh and wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“A bit late for that now, I think,” he shrugged, gently rubbing your growing belly. “We’ll keep that in mind for next time, though.” As you looked up at John, a twinge of pain appeared in your lower back. Your forehead creased for only a moment, but he picked up on your discomfort immediately. 

“Let’s find you a seat, hmm?” he suggested. “How about this spot here?” He led you over to the wingback chair he usually sat in at teatime, holding your hands to steady you as you lowered yourself down into the seat. 

“Thank you, John,” you sighed, pressing a kiss against the back of his hand. “Carrying a little person inside you is pretty tiring, I guess.” John waved to your sister, who brought you a slice of cake and a glass of water. Your very sweet husband had ordered it from your favourite bakery for the occasion. The frosting was a thick buttercream, just the way you liked it. As you scooped a bite up with your fork, you admired the delicate lilac blossoms the baker had decorated the side of the cake with. They reminded you of the lilac bushes that bloomed in your front garden every summer. 

“How does it taste, then?” John asked, kneeling beside the chair. You offered him a bite, and as he leaned in to eat it from your fork, he got a bit of icing on the tip of his nose. With a laugh, you wiped it off with your finger. 

“It’s perfect,” you promised. “This whole party is more than I deserve.” You looked around the room and felt overwhelmed by the number of friends that had come to celebrate with you. John’s band mates and their partners, your family and coworkers, and even a few college friends had shown up. 

“You deserve the world, Y/N,” John replied earnestly. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, though.” From across the room, Roger called him over. John looked to you apologetically, but you waved him off. 

“Go on, I’ll be fine,” you promised. “Keep Roger out of trouble, will you? He’s been ducking into the loo every half hour, nipping at his flask, I’m sure.” John kissed you on the forehead before getting up to join Roger and Brian, who were tucked away in the corner. 

Although you had specifically requested that no gifts be brought, a pile of wrapped boxes and gift bags had appeared on the dining room table. They would remain there until you had the energy to open and appreciate them, maybe in the morning. Several people had hinted that their gifts were ‘just a little something for you and baby’, which made you feel better about receiving gifts. When word of your pregnancy had gone around Queen’s tour crew a few months back, everyone had been very excited for you and John. This was just their way of sharing in the joy with you. 

As the hour grew later, guests began to pass by your chair, leaning down to kiss your cheek and say their goodbyes. By midnight, the only people left were John’s band mates and their partners. Mary was curled up on the couch, asleep. Freddie had retrieved a quilt from your linen cupboard and draped it over her. 

“Just stay the night, Fred,” you insisted. “The spare bedroom’s made up for guests, and John won’t mind.” You couldn’t ask him, as he was occupied (holding Roger’s hair back while he vomited into the kitchen sink), but having the boys stay over was a regular occurrence, especially after parties or band engagements. Roger’s girlfriend, a relatively new figure in his life, sulked by the door. 

“Are you keeping Roger as well, then?” Brian asked, grimacing at the sound of Roger’s retching. You nodded. 

“Might as well. He’s not in any shape to leave.” Brian ran a hand through his hair. He tended to be the most annoyed with Roger’s shenanigans; they had been friends the longest, and Brian seemed to have an expectation that as he grew out of the raging party atmosphere, Roger would too. 

“Are you going to stay as well, or would you like a lift?” Brian’s fiancée, Christine, asked Roger’s girlfriend. 

“A lift would be great,” she sighed, glancing at the kitchen in annoyance. She was a relatively recent figure in Roger’s life, and knowing his relationships, you guessed that she probably wouldn’t be around for long. 

The ladies went outside, where the car was waiting in the drive. As he stood in the doorway, Brian blew you a kiss, which you pretended to catch in your hand – a running joke between the two of you. 

“Get some rest, Y/N, and happy birthday,” he smiled. 

Finally on your own in the sitting room, you allowed yourself to lean back into the chair, content but exhausted by the evening. 

You laid your hands on your belly and sat quietly, feeling pressure on your bladder as baby’s feet kicked within you. ‘Little John’, as you had taken to calling the baby, was very active, often waking you from your sleep. If you watched closely, you could see ripples in your skin as he stretched. John had a habit of resting his face against your belly, waiting to feel his little son or daughter shift around in your womb. 

A sharp kick caught you by surprise, and you gasped. It hadn’t hurt so much as it had been unexpected, but John had heard you cry out, and was in the sitting room room in seconds. 

“Everything alright, love?” he asked, his face rife with worry. 

“Just Little John getting my attention,” you smiled, reaching up to stroke your husband’s face with your thumb. “How’s Rog doing in there?” John glanced over his shoulder, peering into the kitchen. 

“He’s certainly going to regret all that gin tomorrow,” he said, a smirk spreading over his face. “Are you alright if I put him on the couch for the night?” 

“Fred and Mary are in the guest room, so the couch will have to do,” you replied, grasping the sides of the armchair in an attempt to stand. 

“Are you going to be alright on the stairs?” he asked, eying you nervously. Your balance had been significantly affected by your pregnancy, and after John had watched you trip on the rug a week earlier, he was very concerned. 

“Don’t worry, John,” you said, shooing him back into the kitchen. “Just make sure that goon at my sink doesn’t choke on his own vomit or something. I’ll be angry if this baby’s born without his Uncle Roger.” You waddled across the room and ascended the staircase, holding tightly to the railing as you went. The guest room door was open slightly, and you saw Freddie rearranging the blankets as he tucked Mary in. 

Beside the guest room was the nursery, which John had painstakingly assembled earlier in the week in preparation for the new arrival. You were due just under two months from now, and he wanted to be sure that everything was ready, just in case Little John came early. In the corner of the room was a rocking chair, which had been a gift from your father. It had belonged to his parents, and he had refurbished it for the nursery. Against the far wall was a cot, empty except for a stuffed doll Freddie had brought back from Japan, where they had been touring for their most recent album, A Night at the Opera. 

“What if it’s a boy, Fred?” Roger had asked indignantly. “What’s he supposed to do with a doll?” 

“Probably the same thing a girl does with a doll, dear,” Freddie had said airily, “play with it.” Smiling at the memory, you walked across the room and closed the window. It was getting cool outside, and as much as you enjoyed the fresh air, you wished John would stop opening all the windows. Your bedroom was down the hall, and you had to walk past the guest room again to get there. As you passed, you heard Freddie’s voice, quietly singing to himself, or maybe to his sleeping lover. 

“Love of my life, don’t leave me…” His song was melancholy, and his voice sadder still. As much as you liked the song, which had been on the recent album, you hoped that everything was all right between Mary and Fred. They had been together on and off for 6 or 7 years, you knew, and you loved them both dearly. 

Once you had closed the door of your own bedroom, you slipped out of your party dress and into a nightgown. You stood before the mirror, examining the outline of your belly in the moonlight. 

“Just a little longer, darling,” you whispered, rubbing the spot where Little John had kicked you so forcefully a few minutes before. “Then we can be together, you, me and daddy.” John had been thrilled when you had gone to the doctor for the pregnancy test. You hadn’t been married long, but you both wanted a big family, and when the doctor had given you the results, it hit you both how real life was becoming. 

You pulled the blankets back from your bed, curling up on John’s side. His pillow smelled faintly of his cologne. Although he was just downstairs, you felt a tug in your heart that said you missed him. The boys had been in the studio a lot recently, recording their new album, and before that they had been on the road. You knew it wouldn’t be long before they would be off again. John had promised to take time off after the baby was born, but you were still worried about the idea of being home alone with an infant. 

As soon as you pulled the blankets up, you were asleep. Downstairs, John helped Roger over to the couch, nearly carrying him. He left an empty ice cream pail beside the couch in case Roger started to feel nauseous again. 

“Not sure why you still do this every weekend, Rog,” John sighed, spreading a thin sheet over top of his sweating friend. “Aren’t you tired?” Roger mumbled incoherently. John waited a few minutes, ensuring that Roger was properly settled. After he was satisfied that his friend wasn’t going to have any further issues, John quietly crept upstairs. He pulled the guest room door closed gently as he passed it, and tried to do the same with your bedroom door. He shrugged out of his clothes and tossed them into the laundry hamper before slipping into bed beside you. He tucked himself against your back, folding his knees behind your own. 

“Y/N, are you still awake?” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you as best he could. His arm crossed your pelvis, just below your belly. You didn’t answer, but as he laid beside you and closed his eyes, he felt a series of movements against his arm. 

“John?” you mumbled, opening your eyes sleepily. 

“Right here, love,” he said, kissing the back of your head. 

“Everything alright?” 

“Yes, yes, it’s all fine. Go back to sleep,” he assured you. Trusting that he was right, you closed your eyes again. In a few minutes, you were both out like a light. 

* * * 

The scent of warm blueberries wafted up the stairs when you awoke. As much as you wanted to investigate, your bladder was incredibly full, and all you could think about was getting to the loo. There was only one bathroom in the house, and the door was closed. As you pressed your ear against the door, you heard the shower, and the sound of a woman humming. 

“Mary, can I come in?” you hollered, knocking loudly. 

“Door’s open,” she replied. You cranked on the handle and quickly shut the door behind you. The shower curtain was pulled shut, giving you both a bit of privacy as you hurried over to the toilet. 

“Sorry to bother you, but this baby’s really been squishing my bladder the past few months,” you apologized. Mary laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound. 

“No problem at all, Y/N,” she insisted from behind the curtain. “This is your house, after all!” As soon as you had done your business, you walked to the sink to wash your hands. It occurred to you that maybe it was a good time to ask Mary about how she and Fred were doing, since it was rare for you to find her alone. 

“Mary, can I ask you something?” Your voice was hesitant, but you felt sure that this was the right thing to do. 

“One moment,” she said, “I’m just rinsing my hair.” Sure enough, the water shut off a minute later. A hand reached out from behind the curtain, grabbing a folded towel from the rack beside the shower. Mary pulled the curtain back and stepped out over the side of the basin, wrapped neatly in her towel. Her hair was a dripping wave of blonde, which she quickly wrapped in a second towel. 

“What’s up?” she asked, sitting on the lip of the tub. 

“I was just…wondering if everything’s alright,” you said frankly, “with you and Freddie, I mean.” Mary’s eyes fell to the floor. She sighed, and her shoulders drooped as she spoke. 

“We’re…I’m not quite sure,” she confessed, looking up at you sheepishly. “Things have been different since he’s been home.” 

“Different how?” 

“I don’t know how to describe it,” she said, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. “But I know that something happened while he was away, and he won’t tell me what.” It wasn’t like Freddie to keep secrets, you knew, especially from Mary. 

“Maybe he’s just tired of touring?” you wondered aloud. “I know how much energy it took out of John. He was drained when they got back.” Mary shook her head firmly. She knew him better than anyone else. 

“No, performing is what makes him feel alive,” she asserted. “It’s more like he’s drifted away, but I’m not sure where he’s gone.” She shifted uncomfortably in her towel, glancing away as she continued. “He hasn’t asked…he doesn’t want…” she hesitated. 

“Sex?” you suggested. 

“Yeah.” Mary stared at the floor, not knowing how to continue. 

“So, what, are you thinking that he met someone else or something?” you asked, surprised. “Because I can ask John, I’m sure he’d have seen—” 

“No,” she said quickly, “I don’t want to know.” Your eyes widened with surprise. This was unlike Mary; she knew everything about Freddie. 

“Do you really think he would have cheated, Mary?” you asked, putting a hand over hers. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever known Freddie to have eyes for.” Her face flushed red, but she turned her palm up, allowing you to hold her hand supportively. 

“I don’t think it’s a woman,” she admitted. “I’ve had this feeling for a while, and I’ve been ignoring it, but…” she trailed off. 

“So you think maybe he’s…gay?” you asked, trying not to appear phased by the revelation. The word clicked in your mind, and suddenly so many things made sense. “Mary?” 

“I don’t know, maybe,” she sighed. “But I don’t want to say anything unless he brings it up. Maybe it’s nothing, and he’s just tired, like you said.” You nodded sympathetically, thinking carefully about your response. 

“I don’t know what to say, Mary. I’ve never had that doubt,” you said honestly. “But as your friend, I want you to know that I’m here for you.” She nodded stiffly, and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Feeling that she needed privacy now more than before, you gave her hand a quick squeeze and got up to leave. 

“Y/N?” she asked, her voice trembling. 

“Yes?” 

“Thanks for being such a good friend all these years, even though I haven’t always been…you know,” she said, sniffing. 

“That’s in the past, Mary,” you insisted, pausing with your hand on the door handle. “We all have our moments.” She tried to smile, but her lip quavered fiercely. “Anytime you want to talk, just let me know.” You opened the door wide, hoping no one was in the hall. Opening doors and just ‘slipping through’ wasn’t possible anymore, because of the size of your belly. 

As you closed the door, you looked into your bedroom. John wasn’t in bed. Now that you thought about it, he hadn’t been there when you had woken up, either. You descended the stairs, breathing in the delicious smells of fruit and syrup. From the bottom of the staircase, you could see that Roger was still asleep on the couch, wrapped up in the sheet John had laid over him. In the kitchen, Freddie and John were busy at the stove, Freddie cutting up fruit and placing on a serving tray, and John flipping pancakes. 

“You two are up early,” you smiled, kissing your husband’s cheek as you walked past him. 

“Where’s mine?” Freddie cried, looking at you with a pained expression. Laughing, you leaned in and gave him a peck as well. On the counter beside him, a cooler was packed with sandwiches, fruit and veg, and other essentials. Two small travel bags were laid by the back door. 

“What’s all this, now?” you asked, looking from John to Freddie. With a grin, John slapped another pancake onto the tall stack beside him. 

“It’s part of your birthday present,” he said brightly. “Fred’s helped me get it all together. I’ll explain it all after breakfast.” You looked at your husband curiously, but he pretended to zip his mouth closed, unwilling to share yet. 

“Help yourself to some pancakes, darling,” Freddie beamed, gesturing to the stack on the counter. “Fruit will be ready in just a moment.” John passed you a plate, and you used your fingers to grab a steaming pancake from the top of the stack. Drenching it in syrup, you made quick work of your breakfast, which ended up being three pancakes, nearly an entire container of strawberries, and several pineapple spears. 

“Eating for two, here,” you explained, patting your belly. John laughed, shaking his head. You were still in your nightgown, but weren’t embarrassed in present company. John’s band mates were essentially family, and had been ever since you had met them all. 

“You’ll have to get dressed, now,” John instructed. “Wear something comfortable, and bring your coat just in case.” With a frown, you tried to think of where you could possibly be going. 

“What have you packed in my suitcase?” you asked. 

“Mary helped me pack,” he answered, not revealing anything further. “Just go on upstairs, we’ll have to leave soon.” John had always been a quiet man, and a bit of a mystery, but surprises weren’t something you were used to with him. 

You returned to your bedroom and picked out an outfit, trying to identify what items were missing as you searched for clothes. You slipped into a pair of stretchy capris and a brightly patterned tunic, one of your favourite maternity tops. You layered a cardigan over top, as John had recommended a coat. 

“All ready to go?” Mary asked, standing in the doorway. 

“Would help if I knew where I was going,” you said, your tone bordering on cross. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” she said gently, walking over and pulling you into a hug. “John’s planned something perfect, and I know you’ll love it.” You followed her back down the stairs, where John and Freddie were waiting at the door. 

“If we’re leaving, was someone going to bother waking Roger?” you asked, peering over at the couch. 

“He’ll be fine,” Freddie said, kissing both your cheeks. “We’ve got everything under control, darling.” John had his hands full with the travel bags, so Mary handed you the lunch cooler. 

“See you in a few days,” she smiled, waving at you as you followed John out to the car. Although John had made a significant amount of money after the most recent album and tour, the two of you insisted on living simply. This meant that you still drove a plain black Volvo, even when Roger had upgraded to a sleek, red sports car. John loaded the bags into the boot of the vehicle, and you tucked the cooler into the back seat. John opened your door for you, watching carefully to make sure you wouldn’t fall as you climbed into the seat. 

“So,” he said mildly, pulling out of the drive, “how do you feel about a bit of a road trip?” His face gave away nothing, and you frowned as you tried to think of where he might take you. 

“How far were you thinking?” you asked. 

“I’ve heard Aberystwyth is lovely this time of year,” he replied, shrugging. “But so are lots of other places. Brighton. Glasgow.” You frowned, confused. 

“So we’re driving somewhere, but you won’t tell me where, and it’s my birthday gift?” you said slowly. John shifted gears as he drove across Putney Bridge, and reached out to grab your hand. 

“Don’t you just love surprises?” 

* * * 

You pulled over on the highway for lunch, just after crossing the border into Wales. The morning had gone smoothly, with minimal traffic on the way out of London. John had a variety of cassettes to play in the car, and you had worked your way through several Beatles albums. After munching on sandwiches and veggies, you got back into the car and drove for a few more hours. Toward the end of the drive, you closed your eyes for a nap. 

“We’re here,” John announced, rousing you from your sleep. 

“Where’s here?” you mumbled drowsily. John stepped out of the car and walked over to your side, opening the door for you. He held out a hand, which you accepted, and he gently helped you stand. 

Your first impression was that everything was so green. John had parked the car on a grassy drive, lined by wooden fence posts and surrounded by shaggy hedges. Trees were abundant, casting cool shadows over the ground. 

“John, where are we?” you asked, taking a breath of crisp afternoon air. 

“Wales,” he said, not caring to specify. “Come for a walk, you’ll see.” He laced his fingers through yours and guided you down the drive. Along the side of the path, you noted yellow rosebushes, and a variety of wildflowers. John turned the corner where the hedgerow ended, stopping in front of a pretty cottage. 

The house was trimmed in cream-coloured plaster, and to your delight, a large rosebush arched over the doorway. A stone chimney ascended from the roof, and three windows, which swung outward like shutters, allowed sunlight into the place. A cobblestone path led from the drive to the door. 

“John, are we staying here for a few days?” you asked, marvelling at the lush front garden. 

“Actually,” he said, a hint of uncertainty colouring his voice, “we can stay as long as we like. It’s ours.” 

“Ours?” you puzzled, glancing at him in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” he smiled shyly, “I wanted a place we could come with the baby, somewhere we can be out of the spotlight for a while. Brian asked around, and found this place for us.” You walked towards the cottage, touching the leaves of plants as you passed them. 

“So this…we own this?” you said, a smile creeping slowly over your face. 

“I signed the papers last week,” John confirmed. “We’ll keep the house in town, of course, but when we want to get away, we can come out here for as long as we like.” He pulled a pair of keys from his trouser pocket and unlocked the front door. The door opened into the kitchen, a quaint little room with a breakfast table right beside the window. 

“You bought me a house for my birthday,” you said slowly, suddenly realizing what John had been saying. “John, you bought me a HOUSE? For my BIRTHDAY?” 

“Well, it’s more of a cottage, really,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “But yes, I suppose I did. Can I show you the rest of it before you go to pieces over our finances?” 

“John, I’m not worried about money,” you said, looking around the room in awe. “I just can’t believe this place. It’s incredible.” 

“It’s been around a while, and there are a few things that could use some fixing up,” he explained, “but I figured that it would be a good place for our little family.” He followed you as you walked through the sitting room, which was already furnished, into the bedroom. 

“John, is this…” you trailed off, touching the squares of the quilt draped over the bed. 

“I phoned your parents to tell them about my plan to buy the place, and your mum wanted us to have this for our bed,” John said softly. “I remember your grandmother finishing it just before she died.” You felt tears in your eyes, and you brushed one away as it ran down your cheek. 

“This place is perfect,” you decided, looking up at your husband. “I don’t even know what to say, John.” He pulled you into his arms and hugged you tightly. 

“You’ve been so patient with all the shows, and tours, and Roger throwing up in our house,” he reminded you. “You deserve to have a place where you know my one and only concern is you, and our family.” He leaned down and kissed you gently. “I love you.” 

“I know, John,” you said. “I love you, too.” John sat down on the end of the bed and waited while you continued to explore the cottage. He smiled as he listened to your little chirps and comments over various pieces of furniture or wallpaper. 

“John?” you called out suddenly. He jumped up from the bed and ran down the hall. 

“W-what is it?” he stammered. “Are you alright?” You stood in the doorway of the last room on the hall, facing him. “Is something wrong with the baby?” His heart was racing, and you realized as you saw his face that your tone had scared him. 

“The baby?” you asked. “No, the baby’s fine. I’m more concerned about this.” You jerked a thumb backward, indicating the room behind you. “You bought me a house with a fucking LIBRARY?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have requests for one-shots, please comment below! Always open to new ideas.


End file.
